


Beneath the River Styx

by floating-in-blue (DeadLoaf)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Bea Bennett is a treasure, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, dick grayson needs a well-deserved break, implied major character death, involves cherry-picking of canon events, mostly self-indulgent, my own version of the Joker War conclusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26840860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadLoaf/pseuds/floating-in-blue
Summary: “Names, Batman.” He dodges the hand about to grab his shoulder and puts more distance between them and his…mentor? partner? father? “It’s something I should have finished several years ago.”“The crystal is still affecting your mind. We need to go back to the cave for a more thorough analysis –““Don’t insult me,” Dick almost snarls. “Of all the things you didn’t do, at least don’t insult me.”
Relationships: Bea Bennett/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 4
Kudos: 84





	Beneath the River Styx

**Author's Note:**

> Mind you, I haven't read the recent chapters of Nightwing because I really don't want to test my temper. So, special thanks to [@nightwingmyboi](https://nightwingmyboi.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr for their helpful metas and summaries that kept me updated.
> 
> Also, this is kind of a vent fic to release my frustrations on the writing, the anticlimactic return of Nightwing, lack of longterm effects of all the brainwashings, the Batfam piggybacking off Bea's efforts in helping Dick, the writers who are most probably going to set aside Bea, Joker's overexposure, yadda yadda (at this point, it might never end)
> 
> Catch me rowing the Dick/Bea ship all by myself if I have to.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this haphazardly written fic :)

There’s something about seeing an ordinary civilian doing things beyond what they thought they could do. More than the rush of adrenaline, but with the motivation to do something more through sheer will for someone and using it to exceed expectations.

For someone as sweet and understanding as Bea, he never expected her to out-stubborn him, and that was saying something. Her black vest was ripped to shreds, shirt and jeans torn and spattered with blood, and usually neatly tied dreadlocks let loose like a long purple mane framing her face. Even while looking dead on her feet and leaning on her trusty bat for support, a tired smile lights up her face.

“Bea, you still with me?”

“I hid a bottle of Moonshine under the bar table. A guy used it to pay his tab, says he brewed it himself. Seems to be a good time to take it out,” she pants, the dissipating rush creating a manic gleam in her warm coffee eyes. Dick feels like he could go another round with the Joker.

It startles a laugh out of him, warmth trickling deep within his skin. “Wanna chase it with some battery acid while we’re at it?”

“It should be enough for a full month’s sleep.”

Dick chuckles again and carries her piggyback style, his body still high on adrenaline. “Petroleum and battery acid. Lovely.”

“Don’t think you’re exempted from the…” Bea yawns, “…sleep plan. Memories or no memories, you owe me at least one…pajama party,” she continues to slur tiredly. Her eyelids continue to droop, the crash of adrenaline and exhaustion catching up to her faster.

“Mm-hmm, promise. I’ll even cook for you if you want, straight out of the Grayson cookbook.”

“You better…” Bea drifts off and finally slumps in exhaustion. Dick can’t help the amused quirk in his lips at the bat still clutched tight within her hands. He removes it from her loosened grip and slots it instead at the space between her front and back, perpendicular to his body. It digs into his back a bit and sticks out on the sides but it’s worth a nice display at the bar, and probably an amusing story to share over drinks. Frankly, it’s a disturbing image, but his view of norms had always been skewed since childhood.

“Nightw...Dick –”

“Don’t touch me,” Dick says, the previous fondness frozen to ice.

“What have you done?” Batman growls behind him, laced with the familiar accusatory tone he’s used against him countless times. It might have worked during his first and second life, but there’s nothing but cold and bone-deep exhaustion within himself to make room for anything but an apology or a damn good explanation at the very least.

He feels Bea grimaces a bit in her sleep and Dick adjusts to make her more comfortable and to distract himself from the simmering rage threatening to boil and overflow.

“Dick, are you listening –“

“Names, Batman.” He dodges the hand about to grab his shoulder and puts more distance between them and his… _mentor? partner? father?_ “It’s something I should have finished several years ago.”

There’s a slight downturn in the corner of Batman’s mouth, followed by a slight twitch on his cowl. “The crystal is still affecting your mind. We need to go back to the cave for a more thorough analysis –“

“Don’t insult me,” Dick almost snarls. He ignores an instinct to reach for a knife on a bandolier he doesn’t have, thankful for his occupied hands. “Of all the things you didn’t do, at least don’t insult me.”

That downturned curve turns into a stiff line, Batman’s body tensing and nearing a livid state. “We don’t _kill._ It’s not our place to be the judge and executioner of lives.”

_“The Court is the judge, and we, the executioner. And you, grandson, will soon be the greatest of us all.”_

“To kill one is to become one.”

_“Nice and easy, Dickie-boy. A bit more practice and you’ll get the hang of it!”_

“You know this, Dick!”

“I know, and that’s the difference,” It takes everything for Dick to control his voice, even as he trembles with every word, a volcano under his skin ready to unleash its wrath. Batman seeming to determinedly shove pieces of Mentos into his soda bottle of jumbled thoughts and mixed emotions.

A light squeeze on against his clavicle clears his head. Bea minutely shifting to rub calming strokes around the area. Dick inhales deeply, then exhales through his mouth.

“I made sure it’s final. I don’t and will never regret it.” Dick meets Batman’s eyes through the lens, their years of partnership rendering the barriers useless against his critical eye. “It’s a choice I made for myself for once.”

The desecrated memories of his parents, the brainwashing, the fear of another loved one falling prey and evading rescue or survival, and the accumulated loss and despair of the madman’s frenzied reign.

Sisyphus took a successful climb up with his burden, taking comfort in the temporary victories in between his endless punishment.

The loss would create a power vacuum and an eventual power shift among the rogues. But for now, Dick wouldn’t mind basking in the lull before the eventual storm.

Waves of frustration, disappointment, and an underlying minute feeling of helplessness radiated from Batman. His lips press together tightly.

“Dick, come home,” Batman practically drags from his throat, growl sounding tight and unusually vulnerable, as if his thoughts were separate trains set to crash at a railroad intersection. And from that crash, he picked up the most salvageable parts.

_“The Court is and will always be your home, Gray Son.”_

_“Behold our playground, Dickie!”_

_Come home_ – it was something he was dying to hear when he was undercover at Spyral. Welcome words – albeit reluctantly perhaps – when he was still lost and wandering with spotty memories. Alone and just a number, then alone and lost in his head.

What would have happened, learning about his new family again, and his family knowing an unpolished side of him in return? Taking the chance to know each other all over again. Navigating and knowing the scarred part of himself that lost everything and everyone he knew with a snap of a rope.

“I can’t.” Dick takes another look at Batman before turning back, gripping Bea tighter against himself, “I’m not sure where it is anymore.” He walks away.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

Batman does not follow.

He continues to walk, he and Bea locked in comfortable silence among the deserted streets of Gotham, residents previously instructed to evacuate and find cover.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back?”

“Sick of me already?” Dick teases. He feels the weight of Bea’s serious gaze and sobers up. “Should I?” 

“Do you want to?” her arms wrap loosely around his neck. “You’ve been through so much, you deserve a rest at least. Even better with some familiar faces around you.”

“What about you?” he asks instead.

Bea huffs an exasperated laugh. “I’ll be fine. If nothing else, the bar and the regulars will be enough to take my mind off things. Don’t dodge the question.”

He recalls dropping down the rooftop from his trip to see Dr. Haas, the upturned furniture at the bar, and the broken bottles. His unused apartment, thankfully paid automatically from a separate account. The remains of the hideout he painstakingly built and eventually burned.

A light tap on his cheek brings him out of his thoughts.

“You’re Richard Grayson. We’re in Gotham, looking for a ride back to Bludhaven to get drunk on Moonshine and catch up on sleep. Are you with me?”

He turns his head to give her a grateful peck on the cheek. “Yeah, I’m...really grateful for that.” She kisses his cheek back in lieu of a reply.

_Glory to ashes. And from the ashes reborn. Where will these new wings bring me to?_

“I was wondering, are you looking for a bartender?” Dick grins.

He feels her smile against his nape.

“Depends. Can they handle living in Bludhaven?”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

**Author's Note:**

> I might edit this after a day or three
> 
> Let me know what you think :)


End file.
